


Skiving

by Buttsuoka_Rin, DemiFaun



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Blowjobs, Fingerfucking, Fluff, M/M, Porn, Ramblings, Teenagers, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttsuoka_Rin/pseuds/Buttsuoka_Rin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemiFaun/pseuds/DemiFaun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John skip class and hide out in the long grass behind the pitch. Of course, they're not just relaxing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skiving

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little bit of a heads up to people who read Swimming Pools and Rugby Balls: you might see this little scene being recycled again soon. Though it will be very much altered to fit in with the plot in that fic. Just letting you know.  
> Also, the end is quite rambly but I had to end it somewhere. Spelling and grammar checked, but any remaining mistakes are my own fault.

After a busy afternoon of double English, Biology, and Rugby practice (with a fresh shower afterwards), John had the last two classes off before evening study. He'd received a text from Sherlock in the last class telling him where he'd be. Lestrade had known about their relationship after their first month together and, to John's surprise, didn't give a god-damn what gender he preferred, and didn't mind that John would rather spend his free classes with Sherlock.

"Oi, those things are bad for you. How many boxes is that today?" John smiled as he turned the corner into the pitch, heaving his bag against the wall and stopping short in front of his taller boyfriend. He was always lecturing Sherlock about smoking, but he didn't try to force him to quit. And to be quite honest, it was easily one of the sexiest things John had ever seen.

"In my defense, this is only my third cigarette today." Blowing one last plume of smoke skyward, he ground the butt end of it out under his shoe into the gravel. "I've been cutting back, mostly for your sake. If recall, you tend to complain that my mouth tastes like an ashtray after I've had more than a pack in the past twenty four hours." Slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he leaned back on the fence surrounding the pitch and ducked his head a bit. "Now, as long as you don't tell Stamford I'm down here, I think I can sneak away for a little. He isn't teaching anything that I don't already know. I suppose that library at home wound up being good for something in the end." Lifting his chin again, he glanced over at John with a wicked little smirk.

John rolled his eyes and glanced around him, making sure there was nobody around that would catch them, especially not _Anderson._ "Now why would I tell? If you skiving off gives me ninety minutes to occupy myself well..." He grinned at Sherlock and fiddled with the hem of his tight rugby t-shirt. "Come on, there's never anyone in the outskirts. Most of them are catching up on missed homework anyway. Ya coming?" John slung his bag over one shoulder and jerked his head towards the line of trees and benches further head way behind the goals.

"Of course." Sherlock levered himself off the fence, freeing a hand from his pocket to push his hair off his forehead. Giving John a very casual once-over, he followed him off the pitch and into the grassy verge surrounding it. It wasn't uncommon to find couples necking in the grass, though there was none there now. Sherlock picked a particularly plush-looking patch and fell backwards into it, arms and legs splayed out like a starfish and his head tipped a little back to bare the length of his neck.

John often marvelled at how cat-like his boyfriend could be. Clearing his throat, he flung his bag aside to land in the tall grass and let himself settle gently onto the grass by Sherlock's legs. He reached out and tugged down the white shirt which had ridden halfway up Sherlock's lean stomach, and patted it into place. He let his eyes roam up the length of his body slowly, taking in all lines and angles and long, pale neck. "All for me." He chuckled, flexing out his ankle and examining his own scabbed up knee; he had quite a bad fall during practice and his knee was almost permantnly stained from the grass. He'd managed to clean up most of the blood though, and the skin was beginning to heal nicely. "Did I tell you Anderson almost knocked himself out on the goal-post today?"

"No, you didn't, but that seems like something he would do. From what I've seen, he's an exceptionally clumsy young man." Sherlock shifted and stretched, putting John's effort at straightening his shirt to waste. It simply shimmied back up again, baring a line of white skin all the way around his waist. "Damian almost drowned during pool laps this week. We're all beginning to believe that he isn't going to make it to the regionals. Which gives me a much better chance." Sherlock's swim team hadn't been meeting often in the past weeks, what with exams coming up and regionals only a month away, but Sherlock had still been using the pool often enough to have a constant, very faint smell of chlorine hanging about his skin and hair.

"You'll make it. I know you will." There was no 'you have a high chance of' or 'I hope you do'. John _knew_ Sherlock was going to make it, what with all his effort and ability and committment to the sport. "And..." John got onto his knees and shimmied closer, bending down to give Sherlock a small kiss. "I will be there when you win." So maybe that was thinking too far ahead, but John liked to give him a boost of confidance anyway.

"John, I have no illusions that I'll actually win the regionals. I am good, but I am just not the best swimmer that will be going to the regionals. Thank you for your faith in me, however." The corner of Sherlock's mouth curled into a slight smile as he lay there, almost basking in the sunlight.

"They say confidance makes you better." He smiled, tracing the curve of Sherlock's jaw with his forefinger gently. God, he was beautiful, really he was, even more so illuminated by the sun. "Hey, do you remember two months back when I was about to say something, but I never did?" He let his finger run down his jaw to his neck, tracing along him jugular slowly.

"What, you mean your cut-off little I love you the first night we were together? Yes. I remember." Sherlock looked over with a small smile, catching John's baffled look. "What, did you really think I hadn't noticed? John, I am certain that I am the most perceptive student in this school. Even half asleep, I could tell what you wanted to say."

John actually had to let out a laugh, burying his face in the fabric of Sherlock's shirt. "Oh god, and here I was fretting about saying it for the last two months! I thought it would have scared you off." Grinning, he raised his head to kiss Sherlock properly, making it last a long time. "In that case, I love you, you bloody know-it-all!" He poked his lover in the stomach.

Sherlock pressed into the kiss, sliding a hand into John's blonde hair to hold him still. "You coming to love me was not going to scare me off, John. There are worse things to happen to a human being than love." He laid back in the grass, folding his hands behind his head again and closing his eyes.

"That's true." He was silent for a few moments as he rolled out the muscles in his neck, looking up at the fluffy cotton-like clouds in the sky. They still had ages left to themselves and it _had_ been a while since they'd had precious time alone. With exams and the biggest Rugby match of the year coming up, and Sherlock's regionals training, they were both just too busy. So John was going to make the most of it. Sitting up, he crawled down to Sherlock's feet and spread his legs apart slowly.

Sherlock had been close to nodding off; when John moved his limbs around, he propped himself up on his elbows to look down at him, blinking sleepily. "Something I can do for you, John? I don't think doing this in the grass is terribly sanitary..." Still, he made room for John between his legs and bent them at the knee, flattening his feet into the grass.

John crawled into the new space and just smirked up at Sherlock. "I'm sure the grass isn't going to affect what _I'm_ going to do." Catching his lower lip between his teeth - which made him look super cheeky - John ran his hands along Sherlock's inseam and up to his crotch. He rubbed his hands over what he could feel beneath and looked up at Sherlock once more. "Unless you're willing to get up and walk all the way back to the dorms...?"

The taller boy let out a long breath, almost a sigh, and laid back in the soft grass again. "No, not at all... I think that would end up with us getting caught, and I can't afford that. Stamford thinks I'm at a doctor's appointment for a nasty cough I've mysteriously developed." With a breathless chuckle, he brought a hand down to card through John's hair.

"Well you might need one when I'm done with you." John chuckled and pressed his face against his crotch, feeling giddy. Maybe it was the afternoon sun and the post-training buzz still running through him, or maybe it was the thought of what was going to happen next. Slowly, he unbuttoned and unzipped Sherlock's trousers, sitting up to tug the fabric down to his knees. "Silk underwear?"

"All of my underwear is silk... You should expect no less of me by now, John." A little crease appeared between his eyebrows as he glanced down at John. If that was sarcasm, it had gone straight over his head. If not... Well, that could be dealt with later. "What exactly are you planning for me, John? I have to ask, given I'm lying here completely at your mercy."

Shaking his head a little, John splayed his fingers around the little bulge beneath and smirked. "I'll let you deduce that one for yourself." Leaning in close he let his mouth trail the length of Sherlock's cock beneath and hummed against it. "Figured it out yet?" He hooked his fingers under the waistband of the silk underwear and peeled them down.

Sherlock brought a hand to his mouth, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip and letting out a low sound of pleasure. Of course he'd figured it out; he'd known from the start. He'd just wanted to hear it to have his suspicions confirmed. "Of course I have, John..." His hips shifted a little under the attention, pressing up into John's hand and mouth and lifting his hips to let his underwear be pulled down.

John pulled the underwear down to his knees as well and shifted a bit, eyeing up Sherlock's cock with sudden hunger. Bracing one hand on the younger man's thigh, he took his length with his left hand and licked a wet stripe from base to tip, swirling it around the head experimentally. Sherlock let out a startled little noise and tossed his head back into the grass, trembling a bit. They'd been dating for two months, and he still wasn't used to that first rush of sensation when John brought his mouth into the picture. The first flare of white dimmed down to a dull pulse after a moment, enough for Sherlock to push up on his elbows and look down.

It didn't take long for John to go right into it. He took the head of Sherlock's cock first and dipped his mouth over it, before sliding down the whole length painfully slowly, just relishing in the hot and heavy weight against his tongue and roof of his mouth. He went down as far as he could, bracing both hands on either thigh, and began to rise up again, hollowing his cheeks on his way. His own trousers were becoming rather tight, and he reached a hand down to palm himself through the fabric.

Any clever words Sherlock might have been able to summon fizzled out in a rush of white static; he could only think of John's mouth and how good it felt on his flesh. His toes curled in his shoes, his hands knotting lightly into the gras on either side of him as he fought to keep from arching into that hot mouth. "Nn, John!"

John's mouth worked furiously, bobbing fast then slow, then swallowing thickly when he had the chance to relax his gag relfex. Peering up, he caught sight of Sherlock's flushed and needy face, grinning around the cock as he continued to palm himself. Fianlly needing more than just friction, he slipped his hand inside and took hold of his own aching cock, pumping it in time with his mouth movements.

"Christ, John... I h-" Sherlock cut himself off, toes curling and back arching off the ground, to moan aloud. "I hope this isn't all you h-" Another groan, desperate and sharp-edged. "Had planned for me!" The overwhelming sensations were making it hard to speak and harder to think; he was soon reduced to needy sounds that were all vowels.

Sliding off with a lewd pop, John licked his lips clean of any pre-cum. He kept stroking the younger teen's cock as he looked up at him. "I haven't got anything with me... Unless you have those little lube sachets in your bag? I haven't got any condoms, though."

"Piss. No, I thought you might. I can't fit anything in these pockets..." A bit peeved now, Sherlock pushed himself up into some semblance of a sitting position and looked down at John. "I mean, I'm sure we could come up with something to do, between the two of us, but I was rather hoping we wouldn't need to get creative with it."

"Well... I'm sure we don't _need_ lube but I'm not sure about no condoms. Not until we both get tested. Um..." Still keeping his hand movements nice and slow, John thought up an idea and looked back up again. "How do you feel about, uh, finger fucking?" The way he blinked was almost innocent. Sherlock snorted out a laugh and pushed his hips up into John's hand. 

"Sounds fine to me, so long as you get _on_ with it already." Lunging forward, he captured John's mouth in a rough kiss, mostly teeth and tongue and lacking all finesse. God, he really was just gasping for it... This wasn't how it was supposed to be...

John let a surprised little gasp slip free. Pulling his hand away from his own erection, he pulled back just enough to remove the tight trousers. He pushed Sherlock back down and hitched his legs up, putting two fingers in his mouth to wet them. "Now..." He didn't waste time teasing around it, seeing as Sherlock was unusually needy today. He pushed in slowly enough, though, giving Sherlock enough time to get used to his fingers. The noise Sherlock made was completely obscene; a long, breathless moan that ended only when he ran out of air. His arms gave out, of course, forcing him to lay back flat on the grass and arch his back off the ground. His hips pushed onto John's fingers, his muscles clenching on the other boy's fingers as they pushed into him. 

"God, that's it..."

John set about a nice rhythm, speeding up eventually and scissoring his fingers in an attempt to get him nice and open. Pushing all the way up, he curled his fingers and sought out the little bundle of nerves he knew so well.  
A sharp, keening moan and a particular energetic writhe from Sherlock signaled John finding that sweet spot; his length twitched hard against his stomach and oozed a drop of precum into his bellybutton. His hand was still near his mouth, and he nipped at the pad of his own thumb as he tried not to cry out.

The fact that they could be caught made their little act all the more heated. John shoved his fingers up and crooked them he same way again, dragging his hands over the rough little spot.  
"Touch yourself, Sherlock." Seeing his boyfriend reduced to a moaning mess was John's goal, and he was too overcome by his own lust to put his little request nicer.

Sherlock all-too-willingly obliged, curling long fingers around his cock and stroking slowly but firmly. Of course, he couldn't keep himself going slow for too long; frankly, he didn't have the willpower to take it slow. Soon his hand was working furiously over his own flesh, thumbing over the tip and throwing a little twist into the end of each stroke.

John tried to match up his finger's thrusts with Sherlock's own masturbating speed, and quickly fell into sync. If this continued, he'd cum in his underwear like a... Well, he _was_ a teenager after all! "Oh god, Sherlock... Do it. Cum for me." He had three fingers in at this stage, fucking Sherlock thoroughly.

With a moan that sounded ripped out of his chest the taller boy bucked his hips back, driving onto John's fingers and tightening his own fist. Seconds later he lost it, spilling over his own hand and the hem of his shirt and clamping down hard onto John's fingers. The noises kept going, little broken gasps and cries that bordered on painful-sounding.

John actually had to drop his head a little, inhaling sharply at how _good_ that tight heat felt around his fingers. He kept stroking Sherlock's prostate gently, letting his orgasm calm down before he removed his fingers. He was still hard, but it was nothing a little fist-work wouldn't take care of. And soon enough, he came too, groaning against Sherlock's stomach. Raising his head, he caught sight of Sherlock's beetroot face and panting chest, and immediately sat up. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock made an incoherent little noise and half-opened his eyes, staring blearily up at John. "I'm alright," he muttered, looking down at the mess covering the front of his shirt. He was going to have a hell of a time getting that out of the dark green cotton shirt... He slumped back with a breathless little laugh, pushing his hair off his forehead.

John sat back and put his trousers back on, wiping his sticky hands in the grass. He turned around to face Sherlock again and helped him back into his clothing, before flopping down on his back beside him. "That was different." He couldn't help but join in with his laughter. Sherlock shifted a bit against the grass, doing up the button on his fly before folding his hands over his stomach, just under the lowest arch of his ribs. Their... Activities had done a good bit to tire him out, and he found himself yawning at the sky and half-closing his eyes.

"I only have one class left, after this... Perhaps I shan't go back at all and just go back to my dorm."

"It's French. You're in my class." John managed to push himself off his back and onto his feet, straightening his ruffled up hair and uniform. "It's probably just going to be revision and I don't feel like going back either. Rugby 'injury' and all that." He smiled down at Sherlock and held out his hand.

Sherlock took the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet; there really wasn't any hiding the stain on his shirt, and he took a minute to dig his jumper out of hs bag and yank it over his head. It was going to be hard enough to get back to the dorm buildings as it was without running into anyone, he didn't want to have to stop and explain the splatters on his shirt.

"Want to go back to mine or yours? We can probably go out or something later seeing as it's Friday." John hitched his bag onto his bag, almost toppling backwards from the weight of his books. Steadying himself, he started to walk beside Sherlock out of the grassy outskirts and onto the pitch.

"I think yours is closer and less likely to get us spotted. And I'd like to go out. There's a little sandwich shop that's just opened up in the village that I've been meaning to visit. I hear it's very good." He hitched his bag up on his shoulder, fighting the urge to slip his hand into John's. Greg might have been perfectly fine with their relationship, but he had a sinking feeling the rest of the school would not be so accepting.

"Sounds nice. I skipped out on lunch today for practice so I'm kinda hungry." John checked behind him for any sign of Anderson and his gang of imbecilic _boobs._ "I could probably sneak you back afterwards. Greg's going home this weekend." 

"Well, I wouldn't worry too much about sneaking me back. It's Friday, and it's not like we have anything better to do." He turned down the gravel path leading to John's dorm, tucking his hands into his pockets.

"True. Hey, we've never really done much outside of school. My mum rang recently, said she'd love to meet you." John kicked a can out of his path and ascended the first few steps to the dorms. "And no, I haven't told her about us. Or dad. I'm not sure how they'd take the news anyway, considering how Harry is and all."

"Ah... Well, I suppose I would like to meet your parents. If they turned out someone like you, they can't be all bad, can they?" His hands shoved a little deeper into his pockets as he waited behind John until he'd swiped his key card. Following him into the building, he breathed out a little sigh of relief that they hadn't been spotted or stopped and sent back to class.

John grimaced as he unlocked his room door, letting Sherlock sweep in before him. "They're not a lot like me besides looks. I take after my mum though." John threw his bag under the desk and fixed the blinds. "But I'm not like them. They'd still like you though and you could talk about Chemistry with dad."

"That sounds pleasant enough." He sat down on the end of John's bed, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers in front of his mouth for just a second. Then he sighed and fell backwards, arms flopped out to either side and his legs dangling off the end of the bed.

"Still tired?" John raised an eyebrow and unloaded his books to pack them away on the shelves. His mother had sent over a mini kettle for Christmas time, and it fit snugly in the corner of his desk, along with a tray of teabags and two small cups. He quickly made two cups of tea; one for Sherlock and one for him.

"A little, yes. Perhaps tired is the wrong word." The sound of the kettle clicking off and the smell of tea perked him up a little, and he pushed himself back up into a sitting position. He took the cup with a muttered thank you, curling his long fingers around it to soak up the warmth. John sat on the bed behind him, resting against the wall and letting his legs hang over the side of the bed. The evening sunlight streamed into his room and illuminated their shadows on the cream wall behind him. 

"The tea should wake you. And the food later on. You've been awfully quiet today, though."

"Well, my mind has been occupied. Even I cannot simply waltz my way through final exams. I haven't remembered every single thing that I've been taught this semester. That would be quite impossible. I've had to delete a few things to make room for the relevant information that will allow me to pass my exams." He scooted back until his back rested against John's chest, ankles hooked over the smaller boy's, and took a small sip of his tea.

John let his arms fall over his boyfriend's shoulders and nodded. "I know, they're less than two weeks away. But you're a genius, Sherlock, you'll do amazing. Some of us ordinary folk will probably barely scrape the surface, especially my Biology exam." He sighed and ran his fingers through the younger boy's hair, sipping from his tea-cup.

"It startles me how much faith you have in me, sometimes... Blind faith can be a dangerous thing, John." He tilted his head into the fingers stroking through his hair, eyes fluttering shut in sheer contentment. Resting his teacup on his knee to keep from dropping it, he nestled a little closer into John and let out a low hum.

"Mm. But it helps." His nose was brushing against Sherlock's smooth hair and the smell of freshly cut grass mixed with passionfruit flooded his nostrils. He leaned over - bringing Sherlock with him - to put his cup on the nightstand, and tightened his hold around his waist. Once they'd settled again Sherlock relaxed, turning his head a bit to nuzzle under John's jaw and make himself comfortable, even with his teacup still propped on his knee.

John let his head lie back against the wall, sensing something was a bit off with his boyfriend despite him waving it off about exams. When Sherlock nuzzled under his jaw, however, he sighed and nudged back, resting his cheek on that mop of hair. "I should change out of this gear before we go anywhere. Do you have clothes with you or no?"

"Just my uniform and my swim gear. I was planning to go to the pool and do a few lengths tonight, but it can wait until tomorrow. I don't particularly need the exercise, and going to get something to eat would take priority." He nuzzled under John's chin again, sighing softly.

"Alright." John murmured an apology as he slipped out from behind him, gently setting him back so he wouldn't flop against the wall. "I'm just going to find clothes. You're welcome to borrow some of Greg's clothes, seeing as you're about the same." Greg was actually more muscular the Sherlock's toned, lean figure, but they about matched in height.

"I think my uniform is fine. I look presentable enough, don't I?" Or so he thought, until he looked down; a cum stain on his shirt, grass crushed into his trousers, jumper wrinkled from being stuffed into a satchel for most of the day... He sighed a bit before heaving himself off the bed and peering into Greg's half of the closet.

John stifled a laugh and pulled out a stripey jumper and a pair of black jeans. "Take what you like, I'll have it put back before Monday anyway. He's already packed so he's not going to miss anything." John stood back to remove his current clothes, choosing to change his underwear too. Once half dressed, he glanced over at Sherlock's choice. "They'll be fine."

Sherlock had settled on a blue t-shirt that hopefully wouldn't be too loose, the name of some band he'd never heard of scrawled loosely across the front... Who was Iron Maiden anyway?... And a pair of jeans that were a little too short in the leg and tattered around the knees. Stripping down to his underwear, he changed quickly and stood there in uncomfortable silence. "John, I look ridiculous."

John bit his lip to stop from grinning. He couldn't help but giggle at the little bit of ankle that was on display. "Here, take the jeans off. I'm sure he has another pair." Kneling down, he rooted through greg's half of the wardrobe and pulled out another two pairs. "One of these has to be longer. I know he has a pair that's frayed at the bottom from being dragged."

Sherlock pulled the jeans off and tossed them onto the bed, taking the pair that he thought might be longer and pulling them on. These touched the tops of his shoes, at least, which felt a little better. "I still look a fool, John, but at least now you can't see my ankles." As out of place as his dress shoes looked with the band tee and jeans, it was still better than a grass- and sex-stained uniform.

"You look fine. Though I must say that it's odd to see you in a band t-shirt and not a Ralph Lauren shirt." John snorted and put the other clothes away, before stepping back and pulling his own black and white striped jumper on. "French should be almost over by now."

"I look a fool." Sherlock dug back into the wardrobe for a jacket, since he could hardly wear his school jumper over this t-shirt and it was a little too cold to be out in short sleeves. "My god, does he have anything that isn't leather? For that matter, does he have anything that doesn't look like it's been mauled over by angry animals?"

John barked a laugh at that and shook his head. "Nope. Greg may be second to the Rugby captian - _me_ \- but he's not a jock outside of school. Skateboarding, playing the guitar, going to heavy metal concerts, you name it and Greg has done it. I might have something." John flicked through his own half of the wardrobe. "Believe it or not, John Watson owns his own item of Ralph Lauren." He showed his Printed Fair Isle Henley cardigan to Sherlock, a gift he'd recieved before going skiing the previous year.

"Well, it's better than... Those." Letting the wardrobe door swing shut, he took the cardigan and pulled it on over his head. Doing up the buttons at the neck finished covering up the band tee, and though the sweater was loose across Sherlock's narrow shoulders it was comfortable. "Thank you, John. I don't look quite so ridiculous anymore."

John waved a hand at him and fetched his deodorant, giving his body a spray of Lynx. The school's very church-like bell rang out, signalling the end of the school day. John watched as the boisterous students pushed and shoved their way out into the courtyard below. "We can leave in a few minutes."

"We should give it a little while to calm down." He sat down on the end of the bed, crossing his ankles and tucking them under the bedskirt. The cardigan smelled a bit like John's cologne, and he found himself sniffing the collar to get a better sense of the smell.

He couldn't help but smile at the ironically sentimental gesture. Closing his blinds again, John wandered closer to Sherlock and tilted his chin up to kiss him. "I never wear that you know. And it looks nice on you. Keep it." He pressed another soft kiss to his forehead, brushing some curls away and out of his eyes.

"John, I can't take this. I'm sure you'll find some reason to wear it, and when you go looking for it you won't be able to find it." He did like it, though, and it _was_ Ralph Lauren... no, Sherlock, don't be a fashion whore. "I'll make sure to return it before the weekend is out, don't worry. I know I'll hardly ever wear it anyway, even if I do keep it."

"Sherlock, I haven't worn that since the ski trip and probably won't ever again. You already wear Ralph Lauren." Either way, it would find a way into Sherlock's wardrobe anyway. Maybe John would tuck it under his pillow while he slept. "Now c'mon, the crowds are dying down." Reaching over, John caught Sherlock's hand and winked. 

The pair shared a little smile and a kiss, before unlinking their fingers and making their way out.


End file.
